


Choices

by Jodygoroar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Date Night, F/M, Love Triangle, One Shot, Sex, Sexual Content, Vaginal, anon request, lop sided love triangle, romanorogers endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodygoroar/pseuds/Jodygoroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request by anonymous: do you think you could do a romanogers fanfic which romanogers is endgame but have a love triangle between Sharon Steve and Natasha civil war time.</p>
<p>These characters belong to Marvel and Disney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

It had probably started way back when, with that photo, old, faded, and slightly torn at the upper right hand corner. Sharon had been snooping in her aunt’s desk, even though she knew how angry, and sad, she would have been to catch her preteen niece riffling through the drawers. But she couldn’t help herself. More than once Sharon had seen Aunt Peggy staring at that photo, when she thought no one else was looking, gazing at it, and yet not really seeing it at all. It was as if she was looking beyond the paper, seeing not the image upon it, but the past, the memory of the photo itself. Curiosity finally got the best of her and she’d sought out the image that put such a wistful look of longing on her usually strong and happy aunt’s face.

It was a black and white photo of a young man, nearly a boy. He was skinny and small, looking off, away from the camera, at something in the distance. He was cute, soft eyes, squinting in the light of midafternoon, strong jaw, despite his slight frame. It was a face that could inspire love. Even at the tender age of twelve, Sharon could understand the sorrow that shadowed her lovely aunt’s face every time the photo was in her aging hands. He must have been the one that got away. She wondered at his name, how they’d met, and what had happened to keep Aunt Peggy from that happiness.

Sharon had tucked the photo away quickly; hearing footsteps coming down the hall. Perhaps one day she would find the courage to ask her aunt about the boy in the photo. As it turned out, she’d find out much more on her own.

Years later, after having been recruited by Nick Fury to S.H.I.E.L.D, Sharon Carter would discover another copy of that photo, in an old file. She was a young agent, working in the closed cases room, updating their new computer systems with the information from paper files her aunt had once worked on. It just so happened that one day she opened the right file, and there it was, that scrawny boy with the kind eyes and strong jaw. This copy was much more pristine than the well loved one in her aunt’s desk, and it had an entire file to go with it. Sharon scanned through the lines of information, his name was Steve Rogers, later becoming Captain America through the genetic experiments of a German scientist. He’d single handily saved hundreds of men from the clutches of the Red Skull during WWII, and then millions in New York City, sacrificing his own life in the process.

Sharon couldn’t stop the single lonely tear that slipped from her eye at the idea as she closed the file. So this was the reason for the soul deep sadness on her aunt’s face all those years. She’d loved him and he’d died saving her and the rest of the city. He hadn’t been the one who got away, he was the one who was taken from her entirely.

Agent Carter worked her way up through the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D. after that, inspired by the bravery of a single young man from Brooklyn to save so many, never guessing in her wildest dreams that that young man would be found frozen in the north Atlantic, in a hibernation like state, still alive thanks to the super soldier serum that had turned him into Captain America in the forties. Even further from her mind was the idea that she would not only meet him, but work closely by his side when S.H.I.E.L.D. turned out to be HYDRA in sheep’s clothing.

Under the direct request of Nick Fury, she’d become his next door neighbor, with the cover story of ‘hospital nurse’ after a few months he finally stopped her in the hall one night, “You’re welcome to use my machine, if you want. It would probably cost less.”

She was sure she’d been caught. Steve was intelligent, he would eventually figure it out, but it wasn’t until later that night, when she heard shots coming from his apartment that Sharon had to blow her own cover. Fury was the victim of an attempted assassination, one that proved to be less attempt, and more success, and suddenly Rogers was a fugitive from S.H.I.E.L.D (HYRDA as it turned out) and the entire United States government. She believed in him though, in that young man in the photo, that boy who’d won the heart of her aunt long ago. She became a fugitive as well, choosing to stand with him, to help him bring down the Triskelion and HYDRA, and in one fell swoop what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. again saving countless innocent lives.

She lost track of him after that, until his gorgeous face was blasted across the news networks months later, when Sokovia went flying towards the heavens, and Captain America and the rest of The Avengers saved the people of Sokovia, but not the city.

Days after the team prevented global destruction in the form of a flying city turned meteor Sharon spotted him walking through the new, much more secret, base of what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. under the direction of Phil Coulson, who’d also come back from the dead, quite in secret. He was dressed casually, jeans, t-shirt, and that leather jacket which barely contained those bulging muscles she discreetly admired.

“Rogers,” she called, jogging to catch up with his long strides.

“Agent 13, long time, no see,” he told her, smiling vaguely, remembering when he once thought she was just a nurse and neighbor. He had to admit to himself, she was beautiful, blond curls bouncing around her shoulders, dressed professionally, her curves well defined in the navy pant suit she wore.

“I saw the news, and just wanted to say…” she fumbled, suddenly looking unsure of herself, “Well, thank you, I guess.”

“I suppose I should be thanking you as well,” he replied, “I heard about what happened here last year, when HYDRA came out of the shadows. You had very little reason to trust me, but you did.”

“I just went with my instincts I suppose, Aunt Peggy always believed in you, I guess it was an inherited feature,” she told him, smiling.

He was surprised, obviously he’d noticed the similar name; Carter. He’d assumed it was merely coincidence, but no longer could convince himself so. With the familial relation now fact in his mind, he could see the resemblance.

_God, she does look like Peggy._

It was there, in the shape of her face, the strength of her eyes, the texture of her golden hair. His fingers twitched to touch the locks that looked so soft.

Natasha’s words, spoken long ago returned to his mind, _What about that nurse who lives across the hall from you?_ He’d not had the opportunity to consider anyone since then, what with S.H.I.E.L.D. crumbling around him, quite literally, the ensuing mess searching for Loki’s scepter, and the near destruction of the planet by Ultron. But now, with the world relatively safe, and who knows how much peaceful time on his hands, Steve reconsidered the woman standing before him.

“Would you like to go to dinner sometime?” he asked, clearly surprising her.

Her face went from mild shock, to contemplation, to decision, in a matter of seconds. “Yes,” she replied, “I would.” She gave him her phone number quickly, before either of them could think too far about the choice, and made her excuses about a mountain of files creating an avalanche upon her desk. “Give me a call,” she told him and scurried away to her office, giddy with girlish joy.

Steve returned to the Tower that afternoon and nearly bumped head first into Natasha. “Woah, Rogers, where’s your head at?” she asked him.

“Sorry, Nat,” he mumbled, still preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blond agent, whose family resemblance was more and more obvious with each passing minute.

“Hey,” she stopped him, concern on her face, “are you alright?”

He smiled at her, touched by her worry for him, “Yes, I’m good. Actually,” he began, unsure of how she’d take the news, “I was just thinking about last year…”

“What about last year?” she asked him, secretly hoping he was going to finally take her advice about _practice_.

“Well, remember that nurse? The one who lived across the hall?” he asked and she nodded, confusion in her eyes. “As it turns out, she’s no nurse at all: agent is disguise,” he told her, “I took your advice. We’re going to dinner on Friday.”

Natasha tried her very best to keep the surging disappointment from her face, “Oh, that’s… great,” she said, feigning excitement.

Steve knew Natasha well enough by this point, she definitely did not think it was great, but why? She’d been the one to suggest Sharon in the first place. Why had she changed her mind? But before Steve could ask, she turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction. Curious, to say the least, but the Black Widow had always been a bit of a mystery to him. He shrugged off her reaction and went about his day as per usual.

_What are you so upset about, Romanoff? It was your idea, after all._ Natasha berated herself as she hurried away from Steve. She’d tried so hard, for weeks, to find a good girl for Rogers to take on a date. Sharon Carter had always been on the top of her list, which was precisely why she’d been among the last few options she’d suggested. She knew the connection, she wasn’t oblivious.

Carter.

Sharon was related to Peggy in some way. Another reason, besides her beauty and kind nature, why Natasha had liked her as a match for Steve. There was no way anyone could replace the chance he’d lost back in the forties with one of the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D, but maybe Sharon could have been the salve to that oldest of wounds on Cap’s heart. So, what had changed since then? Other than the entire world? Why was her heart suddenly in the pit of her stomach? Why was there a single angry tear running down her cheek?

The rest of the week passed with little drama and no sight of Natasha. Steve shrugged it off, unsure and only mildly worried at her reaction. It still was quite confusing to him, but he shoved the thoughts away and focused on the joyful smiles Agent Carter threw his way when he’d stopped by to check his choice of reservation for their date. She glowed with excitement.

He dressed well on Friday night, dark grey suit, crisp white shirt, open at the collar. Their destination was a nice restaurant uptown and he felt the need to impress, who though, he was not sure.

Natasha was in the kitchen when he passed by on his way to the garage of the Avengers Tower. She took a steadying breath when she saw him, he was gorgeous in his dark suit, a striking shade of grey that only made his blue eyes more brilliant.

He stepped into the kitchen, catching her gaze. “Good evening, Natasha,” he greeted her, slightly unsure of her, or her reaction.

“You look good, Rogers. The big date’s tonight, right?” she asked, enough sarcasm in her voice to give him pause.

She was not pleased, but why? He still could not understand it. “Yea, we’re going to dinner uptown,” he replied hesitantly.

Natasha merely grunted in response. Turning away from him, she pulled the fridge door and popped open a beer, chugging half in one swig. She closed the fridge harder than she’d intended and felt a stab of guilt when she saw him flinch away from her unwarranted anger.

“Do we have a problem here, Romanoff? This was your idea,” he told her, seeking the truth behind her irritation. “You tried for months to get me back into the world. I finally do it, with the woman _you_ recommended, and now you’re pissed at me?” he was nearly shouting at her by this point. She was just standing there, not even looking at him, letting him yell. “Why?” he demanded of her.

She continued to look anywhere but in his eyes, fueling his own irritation. Her obstinate silence was too much. He went to her, took her by the shoulders and in voice so quiet he said, “tell me. Why?”

Finally, she looked him in the eyes, searching his face, for what he could not tell. She was as silent as ever, but her answer was not words. She grabbed his stupidly handsome face in both hands and yanked him down to her, slamming her lips across his, every ounce of anger thrown into that kiss.

Steve slid his hands gently down her arms and around her waist, pressing them into the small of her back. She leaned into him, exploring his mouth with lips and tongue. Heat spread through her limbs, desire searing along every vein. She nipped at his lower lip, sparking a fire in his gut. Natasha pressed more fully against him, feeling the rigid length of his growing erection; clear evidence of what she’d already guessed.

Slowly, she kissed him once more, gently, and pulled away enough to touch her forehead to his nose. They stood a moment longer, breathing in each other.

“Is that enough answer for you?” she asked, and left the kitchen abruptly, without looking at him. Steve stood, stunned, in the wake of the Black Widow. That was not what he’d expected, and yet it was exactly what he’d wanted, even if he hadn’t known it until she was there, in his arms, her heat pressed against him.

He must have stood there for at least ten minutes, puzzling over her reaction. The passion in that kiss. His response to her. The morality of going on a date with another woman, Peggy’s niece no less, with the taste of Natasha fresh on his lips, the feel of her firm body in his hands, his curiosity of the rest of her searing through his mind.

In the end, his sense of honor would not allow him to cancel on a lady at this late notice. He took several steadying breaths, pushing his rising desire for Natasha away, and resumed his path to the garage.

Sharon waited rather impatiently for him in her apartment, dressed beautifully in a blue satin dress. It was a simple piece, thick strapped with a scooped neckline, showing just a hint of cleavage and falling to her knees. She wore low black heels, her hair hanging down, pinned back over her left ear. She’d been inspired by more old photographs from her aunt’s past. This ensemble was mimicked after one of her aunt and uncle at their tenth anniversary party. Sharon began to worry that it was too obvious, that she wasn’t being herself, and that Steve would notice and be offended, but it was too late by that point.

He knocked twice on the front door. She checked her appearance once more in the mirror, snagged her jacket from its hook, and opened the door. He was perfection in a dark suit, he smiled warmly at her. “Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied, “you look lovely.”

She blushed lightly and closed the door, pulling her jacket on, “thank you. You, too.”

He offered his arm, “ready?”

“Yes.”

They drove in companionable silence. Arriving shortly at the elegant restaurant. They were seated quickly by the host, a little man in a black tux, sporting a thin mustache. He handed them some menus and skittered off to assist the next party coming through the door.

Steve and Sharon enjoyed the delectable meal of sirloin steak and crisp vegetables, making idle chit chat about the pleasant weather they’d been having, about her enjoyment of music, and his recalled surprise at discovering she was not a nurse at all.

“I never would have guessed,” he was telling her, recalling the last time he’d been ignorant of the truth of her profession. “You said you’d finished a rotation in the infectious disease ward,” he laughed.

She laughed with him, “Well obviously _that_ wasn’t true. To be honest,” she looked sheepishly at him, “my S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform was in that load. I was supposed to be undercover!” she laughed again. “How was I to know my cover would be blown in just a few minutes?”

Their evening was pleasant, though occasionally thoughts of a certain red-haired spy burst into his mind, putting a perturbed look on his face and a straining in his pants.

Sharon wasn’t clueless, she could tell when his mind wandered, she just couldn’t tell where it wandered to.

After dinner he walked her to the car, again they rode in silence, this time a bit less comfortably. Steve Rogers would never forget his manners, though, he walked her to her front door like any proper gentleman would.

They stood facing each other, Sharon fiddling with her keys, Steve with his hands in his pockets, thoughts drifting, again, to Natasha and her ferociously passionate attack on him in the kitchen.

Sharon looked up at him, longing in her eyes, and leaned just a fraction of the distance towards him. He looked her into her face and smiled softly at her, “I enjoyed our evening, Sharon.”

“Me, too,” she said, and before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned up on tip toes and kissed him tentatively on the lips. He held still a second, then returned the kiss, chastely, nothing like the blazing lake of fire he’d swam through just hours ago. She reached one hand up and touched his cheek. Steve pulled away, his heart sinking.

Sharon breathed deep. “Would you like to come in?” she asked. “For coffee?”

Steve shook his head slightly, “I’m sorry, Sharon. This has been a lovely evening, and I had an enjoyable time, but… I don’t think this is going to go any further than it has.” He searched her eyes, hoping for understanding, wishing he could explain it better, that he understood it better himself.

“Oh,” she said, the sunshine like glow quickly fading from her face. “Ok, I understand. Good night, Steve. Drive safely,” she mumbled. She opened the door as quickly as she could and went inside, hoping her disappointment wasn’t as obvious as it felt slamming through her chest.

Sharon leaned back against her front door her throat burning with unshed tears. _You tried, Carter. It just wasn’t there for him._ Maybe there wasn’t enough of her aunt in her. Maybe there was too much. Maybe it was too painful, dredging up old memories. Either way, she admitted to herself she’d probably never find out, and convinced herself it was for the best. Sharon went to bed lonely and disheartened.

Steve stood on her doorstep, staring, unseeing, at the wood before him. Guilt riddled him, but he knew he’d made the right choice. Allowing anything else to happen when his heart was no longer in it would have been dishonorable and caused more pain in the long run.

He drove back to the Tower, contemplating the events of the past few days. From the moment he’d told Natasha about the date to the second Sharon’s door closed in front of him. He had been living on a roller coaster, somewhere between excitement and exasperation. Finally, he’d gotten some kind of answer from her. She was jealous. Natasha Romanoff wanted him for herself. The realization hit hard: he wanted her, too.

Steve had never felt such a burning desire for a woman as he did for Natasha. The feeling had come flying out of nowhere, demolishing the soft yearning he’d felt to be near Sharon, crumbling the gentle warmth under an inferno of aching need.

By the time he pulled the corvette into the garage at the Avengers Tower Steve was a ball of cinders in a skin casing. He stumbled into the elevator punching three incorrect buttons before locating the one for the dormitory floor. He would go to his room, take a frigid shower and attempt sleep. In the morning, hopefully with a clearer head, he would seek out Natasha and calmly explain to her his complete insanity.

Sometimes, however, plans fall through. Like when the object of your desire had been waiting impatiently for your return to the tower and ninja-ed her way into your room before you’d even reached the hallway.

Steve opened his door and flicked on the light, dropping his jacket on the desk and toeing off his shoes. He took a deep, steadying breath, and leaned over the wooden surface strewn with loose papers. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up on the ride up from the ground floor, and now began undoing the buttons, oblivious to the sensual woman lounging on his bed, avidly watching his every move, heat flaring through her every nerve.

“How’d it go?” she asked, startling him from his irritated thoughts of none other than Natasha herself.

He spun with the same sleek grace he always moved with. “Natasha,” he nearly shouted in his surprise. “What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering his voice.

It wasn’t just her presence in his private quarters at this late hour that shocked him, it was everything. It was the way she lounged across his pillow as though it were her rightful place in the universe. It was the short black pajama bottoms she wore, displaying the sleek length of her legs. It was the way her blood red tank top rode up over her stomach exposing the smooth flesh marred by a single bullet wound from long ago. It was the mischievous glint of challenge in her eyes, daring him to make the next move.

He sighed, a heavy tired sound, and turned away from the pleasant view to finish unbuttoning his shirt, “I’m in no mood for your games this evening, Nat.” He tugged the shirt from his belted dress pants and shrugged it from his shoulders. Steve leaned over his desk again, waiting silently for her to take the hint and leave. He heard her shift on the bed. She stood and walked over to him. Irritation got the better of him again. He looked her in the eye, glaring, every emotion he’d been feeling all night clear on his face.

His stubborn resolve demanded she either leave or explain herself. He wasn’t going to ask her again.

Natasha reached out to touch him, gentle fingertips ran along his chest and down his ribcage. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” she admitted, gazing at the muscular form before her. “It was… I was…” she cleared her throat, “I should have just told you…”

“Yes you should have,” he said, “Told me what?” his breathing becoming more ragged as she traced a line down his abdomen to his waistband.

Finally, she looked into his eyes, blue like a midafternoon sky. “Every time you gave me some lame excuse about why some girl wasn’t right for you,” she began, “I was secretly glad.”

Steve placed his large hands at her sides, her skin warm through the fabric of her clothes. “You were?” he asked, no longer surprised. He thought back to all those times she tried to get him a date. Perhaps he was remembering it as he wanted to, or perhaps he was seeing it with clarity for the first time. There had been a hesitation in her suggestions, an extra bright smirk on her face when he refused any of the options. At the time he thought he’d been imaging it, and pushed the thoughts far away, refusing to explore the possibility.

“The truth is,” she fumbled for words, his thumbs sneaking up under the edge of her tank top, tickling the tender skin of her sides, “I’ve been wanting this for quite a while, and seeing you, looking so delicious in that suit of yours, knowing you’d done it for someone else. It made me crazy. The idea you might have ended up in her bed tonight…”

Her words were abruptly cut off when Steve slammed his lips across hers, just as she had done to him in the kitchen. He gripped her by the backs of her upper thighs and lifted her onto his desk, shoving papers out of the way. Steve pressed her knees open and stepped into the circle of her legs, gliding his fingers up her back, into her hair, he cradled her skull in his hands as his mouth explored hers.

All the yearning desire coming out of the shadows, he felt the long buried lust consuming him, guiding his hands across her skin, his lips to her throat. He nipped gently at the tender skin where her pulse pounded. “God, Natasha. The only woman I want in my bed is you,” he gasped against her shoulder.

She wrapped her hands around his upper arms and pushed him away just enough to catch his gaze. Natasha racked her brain, trying to come up with the words to explain to him that this was all she’d ever wanted since that day she’d kissed him on the escalator. Sure it had been a great cover, and it had kept them alive, but it was not the only option. She’d been denying herself for far too long. She stood from the desk, gripping the hem of her shirt with both hands, she tugged it up over her head.

They stood, half naked, staring at each other, feeling a shared rush of desire flowing from their broken dam of restraint.

She was so beautiful, her pale skin flushing under his appreciative gaze. Steve knelt before her, pressing his lips to her middle, his hands sliding up from her waist to cup her full breasts.

Her head fell back, electricity flooding her limbs. His mouth was like heaven, trailing hot kisses across her skin. Natasha rested her hands on his shoulders as he licked along the elastic of her pajama bottoms, teasing her. He released his firm grip on her tightly budded nipples and slid her shorts down over her gorgeous ass. He took each leg by the calf, one by one, and helped her to step out of the fabric.

“Steve,” she moaned, his hot breath fanning over her skin, feeding the blaze within her.

The gravely sound of his name on her lips sent rivers of sensation through him. Steve stood slowly, reaching for his belt, but her nimble fingers stopped him. Natasha pulled the leather from its loops and popped the button on his trousers. With one hand she palmed the rigid length of him through the cotton, her other hand pushed into the back, grabbing his right cheek. She fondled him a moment longer, until he groaned, “Oh, Natasha.”

She shoved his pants and boxers down, freeing his erection, and captured his mouth once more. Steve stumbled backwards blindly as she pushed him gently towards the bed. He felt the mattress knock into his legs and dropped without concern to the padding, pulling Natasha down on top of him. She landed expertly, one knee on either side. Straddling his hips, she settled herself over him, his hands gliding around her narrow waist to cup her backside. He adjusted her ever so slightly as to slip through her wet folds. Natasha’s eyes rolled back in her head as she sank down on him, taking him to the hilt.

She braced her hands on his chest while he gripped her ass, lifting her. She lifted herself and sank back down torturously slow. Natasha looked into his eyes and bit down on her lower lip. Steve practically growled in response, he sat up and took one tight nipple between his teeth. He gripped her ass with both hands and rocked her against him. She threw her head back, moaning and gasping his name.

Shivers ran down his spine when Natasha ran her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping his scalp. Pleasure spiked through every nerve as she rode him, bouncing up and down on his cock. Steve nuzzled his nose against her breasts, breathing in the smell of her.

Steve wrapped his arms around her, lifted, and pressed her back against the mattress. He moved over her, allowing his hands to wander of their own accord across her warm skin. His lips grazed her shoulder, up her neck, seeking hers once more.

Natasha reached behind him and gripped his firm ass with both hands, driving him on, faster and deeper. She groaned, desire pumping through her veins.

They moved together, connecting on a higher level than they ever had. Lust flooding them body, mind, and soul. The heat began bursting like small explosions through her, limb by limb, every cell igniting in the fire that was Steve Rogers and his body on hers.

He filled her twice more before she fell, cascading over the edge, sparks flying behind her eyes. Natasha moaned his name as she came. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deep into herself, clenching around him, and drawing his climax from him.

Steve spilled his passion into her, grinding his hips against hers. Her name falling from his lips like a prayer, “Natasha…”

He collapsed beside her, entangled in the spider’s long limbs. Neither possessing the desire to move. Natasha held him close to her chest, gently feeling the softness of his hair between her fingers. He hugged her around the waist, smelling the heady scent of their lovemaking thick in the air.

“Can I be honest again?” she asked him idly.

“Always,” he told her, the words familiar in his mind.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the battle of New York,” she confessed, blushing beautifully. “It was worth waiting for.”

He chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” He leaned down, kissing her, the long-denied desire rising like a tide once more. “I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you.”

Natasha smiled lustily and rolled him onto his back, climbing on top of him for round two.

**Author's Note:**

> I must admit, this was fun and challenging. It's also probably the most uneven love triangle ever. I hope you enjoy it lovely anon. Thank you for the request!
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments are amazing!


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